


The Nights are Reserved for the Cats

by teabox



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:56:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3106859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teabox/pseuds/teabox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where a small setback turns into something odd, because she is exactly where she is supposed to be and Tom... well, Tom not so much. (Or, at least, according to her).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nights are Reserved for the Cats

**Author's Note:**

> This is (obviously) a work of fiction.  
> Many, many thanks to **littlemisscurious** for being such a wonderful beta-reader!

She had eyes the color of a summer sky and long blonde hair that fell in luscious ringlets past her shoulders. Her petite nose was the perfect size for her heart-shaped face.

She was also a little more than five hundreds years old, mostly made of egg tempera and wood, and currently in the wrong location. A preparatory sketch on wood for the Venus of the _Allegory of Spring_ of Botticelli, that’s what it was - nothing more than few carbon lines and washed out colors, and still a work of beauty - that ended up where it shouldn’t have, because the man that previously owned it did a very stupid thing.

Olive sighed. Standing on the other side of a street in a very expensive residential corner of London, she slightly pushed down her sunglasses and looked at one of the windows of the apartment where the priceless piece of art was - most probably - currently collecting dust against some wall. She sighed again pushing the sunglasses back in place. _At least, if nothing else happened_ , she thought stretching her neck a little, _the whole situation will soon change_. 

She moved her eyes to the slightly lower Georgian building next door, which was actually going to be her way up - even if “climb” was probably a more accurate word. 

They hadn’t given her much notice - and the window of time to actually operate was even smaller - so she had spent the last two weeks observing, calculating, wondering and wandering. She had come up with a plan and had discussed it with her boss. M had suggested a couple of changes, gone through the usual “be aware of everything, don’t forget anything” speech and had finally given her the green light.  

For a moment, Olive’s thoughts lingered on the man that was behind the assignment, Lord Something-or-other, and his - for lack of better words - _naivet_ _é_. She shook her head lightly, but didn’t go any further with her judgment. 

She wasn’t, after all, in the right position to judge anybody. 

She was, after all, a thief. 

But, honestly, there were worse professions in London.

 

*

 

The first thing that Olive had learned when she had started to be a professional thief was that it doesn’t matter how thorough your preparations were, truth was you actually didn’t prepare for _everything_. There was always something, a factor or a detail that you didn’t calculate and that inevitably would put you into trouble. And it was only your ingenuity that could take you out of it.

So that night, when Olive grasped the balustrade of the balcony of her target and started to push herself up, somewhere under her she heard someone say, «You have less than thirty seconds to tell me what you are doing before I call the police», the first thing that went through Olive’s mind had been “shit”.

All of this because M always recommended to never - «really, _chérie_ , never ever» - start a story with a bad word. Otherwise Olive would have probably started right there, right from that “shit”. 

She turned slowly and looked down, towards the other balcony that she had climbed not even a minute before, attached to the apartment that was supposed to be empty - because the neighbor of her target was supposed to be back the next day, but evidently he had decided to come home a day earlier - and took a good look at Tom Hiddleston, trying to quickly calculate what to do and what to say.

«Good…evening?»

He raised an eyebrow. «Fifteen seconds.»

Olive released her grasp on the balustrade, landing with a fluid movement on Tom’s balcony, and he took a step back with an alertness that Olive found rather interesting.

«I can explain, but I most definitely need more than fifteen seconds.»

He didn’t reply immediately, but seemed to weigh his options for few moments before glancing to his cellphone, the thumb ready to touch the dial button. «Are you a fan? Or a mentally deranged person?»

Olive crossed her arms. «Not a fan. And can I point out that if I was really a mentally deranged person, I wouldn’t like to hear it and most probably I wouldn’t admit to it?»

«So you are.»

Olive rolled her eyes. «No, I’m not.»

Tom looked at her for just a moment - his eyes a shade darker - then he took a step towards her. «So, can you please tell me who the _fuck_ are you?»

«Well», she replied with a sigh. «Let’s look at the facts, shall we? It’s almost four a.m. and I was climbing on the balcony of an apartment that you know it’s not mine, completely dressed in black and trying to make as little noise as possible.»

He straightened his back and seemed to inspect her all over again. «Are you…a thief?»

«Technically.»

«What the hell means _technically_?»

«Well», Olive replied sitting on the balustrade of Tom’s balcony, «it means that yes, I do in fact steal certain things, but I do it only because I have a good reason to do it. An _excellent_ reason to do it.»

He smiled at her sarcastically. «I can imagine.»

Olive raised an eyebrow. «Alright. Take her, your _Cute Neighbor_ , my target.»

«Who, Stina?»

«No names», she quickly replied with a small edge of nervousness. «But yes, _her_. Your _Cute Neighbor_ knows she is very cute and recently decided to use her charms to her advantage, putting someone else in trouble.»

Tom crossed his arms and Olive, trained to notice everything, tried to ignore the muscles of his upper arms, focusing instead on the doubt that was obviously written all over his face. «Right. Who and how exactly?»

«I don’t do gossip.»

He raised his cellphone.

« _Really_. You know, there are many young women out there that actually seem to think that you truly are a very nice person. Let me just say that they would probably be extremely disappointed if they could see you now.»

«As far as I am concerned», he replied shrugging, «I am still doing the right thing.»

Olive raised her hands. «Alright, alright. But I do not give names.» She started to talk quickly, leaving him no space for objections. «Your _Cute Neighbor_ got intimately involved with a _Very Important Person_ and was able to take some compromising photos and collect some very explicit texts. So, she happily spent the last five months blackmailing this _Very Important Person_ \- mostly asking for money, gifts and some favors - until recently, when she decided that she wanted more. Or, to actually spell it right, it’s her new boyfriend that decided that they wanted more.» 

He looked at her with a mixture of surprise and doubt. «And?»

«Well. She asked for a quite nice little piece of art - which is also, by the way, almost invaluable - that the _Very Important Person_ owned. He gave it to her», Olive rolled her eyes, «mostly because he thought she wasn’t going to be able to place it quickly and easily, and he would been able to buy it back from her. Instead her new boyfriend is making arrangements to sell it to a private collector, who is quite keen to own it. At least keen enough not to ask questions about _provenance_ and paper trails.»

Tom didn’t replied immediately. «Holy fuck.»

«Holy fuck, indeed», agreed Olive, suppressing a laugh and cautiously pulling herself up on the balustrade. «Even if M wouldn’t agree with the choice of language.»

«Who’s M?», he asked looking at her nervously, as if he was expecting to see her slip. 

«My boss. She doesn’t believe in the overuse of bad words. Now, I’d love to keep chit-chatting with you, but as you can imagine, I have some work to do.»

«Wait a second», he stopped her. «How I am supposed to know that what you said isn’t just a big lie and you are not just trying to break inside Stina’s apartment and steal her things?»

Olive cleared her throat. «It’s not generally my style to point out the obvious, but _de facto_ I am going to break inside her apartment and steal something.» She raised a hand to stop his objection. «I was just being silly, I know what you mean. For what it’s worth, what I told you wasn’t a lie. I’m not a liar. Most of the time.»

«But you are a thief», he pointed out plainly.

Olive bent her knees, curiously looking like a cat for a moment. «Yes, I am. But that doesn’t mean that I lie or I lied to you.»

Tom hesitated for a second. He then grabbed her by one wrist and pulled her inside the balcony. «I can’t let you do it.» 

Now, when you are a thief weird situations do happen and with a not so surprising frequency. Still Olive, in that instant, found herself in a completely different, quite unknown kind of weird situation. 

She stayed there, being held in place by Tom, not because his grip was particularly strong or because she didn’t know how to free herself. Instead, she realized almost immediately that she stayed there simply because she found herself too close to him. It wasn’t really the hand confining her, it was _him_. The straight line of his shoulders, the way his t-shirt was stretching a little on the chest as to remind her that there was more to see, more to discover. His eyes and the curve of his mouth, effectively pinning her down. 

Her throat dried up a little and for a second she lost the train of her thoughts.

And she didn’t appreciate it. She didn’t appreciate it a bit.  

She shook her arm, but he didn’t soften the grip. She shook it again and Tom looked at her with a slightly too amused expression. 

«Oh, for Pete’s sake», she hissed through her teeth, «I didn't tell you I’m going to kill a kitty. I’m telling you that I’m going to get back something that is in the wrong place, with the wrong person and on the verge of being wrongly sold off.»

Tom’s grip softened a little bit. Still, his face was masked with questions. «So…let’s do a deal.»

Olive took a step back and looked at him with curiosity, her head ever so slightly tilted to one side. «Go ahead.»

«Let me talk to your boss. If he-»

«She. If _she_.»

«If _she_ », he corrected himself with a dry little smile, «confirms what you said and convinces me that what is happening right now is not just a side effect of jet-lag and two glasses too many of Jack Daniels, then you are free to go.»

Olive looked at him as if he suddenly grew a second head. «Are you crazy? This is not a deal. This is not even a good idea. It’s actually a bad, terrible, horrible idea. M is going to ask for my head on a silver tray.»

«And why is that?»

«Because I shouldn’t be here talking to you, right now. I should be inside there», she pointed at the _Cute Neighbor_ ’s apartment, «making my way out of it with the painting. _This_ », she pointed at him, at her and more in general at his balcony, «should never have happened. I made a mistake. And in my field of occupation mistakes are seriously paid for. M likes me, but that doesn’t mean that she is going to easily forgive me if I screw up this assignment.»

«I’ll make sure she won’t be upset with you», he offered.

«How?»

«I’m Tom Hid-»

She pushed her free hand over his mouth, muffling the rest of name. «I _know_ who you are, but please, _no names_.»

He slowly removed her hand from his mouth, revealing an amused little smile that Olive found to be quite upsetting. 

«Then, let’s just say that I am a nice guy. I’ll explain her or come up with something that will keep you out of trouble.»

«Just the fact of me calling her because you want to talk to her is going to put me into trouble.»

«As I see it», Tom pointed out frankly, «you are in trouble no matter what. Or you don’t let me talk to your boss and I don’t let you go and call the authorities, or you gamble and let me talk to her risking to upset her. But maybe I will be able to talk her out from being angry with you and maybe she will convince me that all you said is actually true.»

Olive stared at him in disbelief. He held her stare with the halo of a smile on an expression that looked so ridiculously honest. She cursed under her breath, then sighed. «You bastard.» 

Tom smiled. «I’ll take it as a compliment.»

 

*

 

She was an odd one. 

_Well,_ Tom told himself, _she is a thief._ “Odd” didn’t even start to describe her.

He looked at her while she was on the phone, pacing nervously around his apartment. He second guessed his own judgment again, but it was too late anyway. 

She was speaking quickly mostly in English, a few French words thrown in here and there. He was positive that she also used some Italian and Spanish. And not for the first time that evening, Tom wondered who the hell that young woman was and in what kind of absurd situation he found himself in. 

He took a more patient, slow look at her, now that she was busy with something else. From what he could see of her legs she was definitely trained - maybe even a runner - but no surprise there. Again, she was a thief. You would expect that, seen her choice of “profession”. 

Even so, when he had seen her almost inside Stina’s balcony, he had stood there for a moment looking at her with some amazement, even knowing that what she was doing was obviously wrong or odd at best. Then she had jumped with a weird kind of grace onto his balcony, making it look like it was a child’s play.  

And still there wasn’t really anything in her that would give her away. 

Not that he really had an idea of what should give a thief away, but there she was - a thief, at almost four in the morning, in his apartment and on the phone with her boss - and she just looked normal, like many other girls and women he could see every day on any street around the world - maybe apart from her attire. 

Tom saw her throwing him a quick look - something slightly nervous in her eyes - so he smiled at her. She didn’t reply to it and turned around instead.

_Oh, well_.

Maybe that was the only thing that was sort of different in her. Her eyes. They seemed to be on a constant move, unrestingly calculating, taking things in, registering details, looking for something. Or at least Tom thought so. 

He saw her turning around again and quickly covering the distance between the two of them, handing him the phone.

«Here you go», she said unable to hide a slight apprehension. «Feel free to be your charming self.»

He took the phone to his ear, unsure about what to say. «…hello?»

«Mr Hiddleston», said the voice of a woman on the other side of the line. She sounded calm and collected, her tone rich and velvety. «I am so terribly sorry for the inconvenience.»

Tom was temporarily taken aback by the formality. He didn’t know what to expect, but certainly not someone that sounded like the headmistress of a finishing school for young ladies, with a pleasant hint of a foreigner accent in her voice.

«It is very unlikely of my young agent there to make such mistakes», M went on slowly, «but I do believe that you may understand that miscalculations may force themselves upon anybody, from time to time.»

«Yes. I mean, of course. It happens. Sure», he replied stumbling a little on the words.

«And I do believe that my agent gave you some - shall we say - _highlights_ of her current assignation?»

«Yes. Yes, she  was very kind.»

M paused just for a second. «So, am I wrong to believe that you may understand the peculiar sensitivity of this case? As a man of art yourself, without doubt you too will find the idea of a rare piece of art being sold off in such a bleak fashion quite despicable.»

Tom rested his free hand on his neck, massaging it absentmindedly. «Of course. I do understand. Or, I mean, I see that there may be a case…I don’t know all the details, obviously, but…»

«Mr Hiddleston», M interrupted him kindly, «don’t believe that I don’t understand your doubts and your concerns. But I can assure you that what my agent is doing is for the best.»

«No. I mean, yes, I’m sure.» Tom looked over to Olive and was a little surprised to find her staring at him with an amused expression on her face. He frowned trying to figure out what was entertaining her so much, when he realized it was him and the way he was talking to her boss on the phone, sounding like a nervous teenager. 

Tom straightened his back trying to resume some of his normal self. He cleared his voice and forced himself to sound more business-like. «Listen, I don’t mean to be impolite, but in all honesty I don’t feel comfortable to be part - even remotely - of something of this sort. I’m willing to let your _agent_ go and don’t call the authorities, but only if I’m guaranteed that she will not sneak in my neighbor’s apartment to take whatever she is here to take.»

M, surprisingly, laughed softly. « _Je n_ _’_ _ai pas de problèmes_ , Mr Hiddleston. I can assure you that. I will come and pick her up myself. And as for _sneaking in_ \- as you worded it - I can promise that it won’t happen either. It’s far too late for tonight, at this point.»

Tom stood in silence for a moment. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy. He cleared his throat again. «Well. Good. Thank you.»

There he was again, talking weirdly. From the corner of his eye Tom saw Olive poorly suppressing a laugh. He turned to face her, talking clearly and slowly for her sole benefit. «We will wait for you here, then. Give a ring once you are downstairs and I’ll send your agent to you. I’m pretty sure she is very impatient to explain this night in details.»

He was shamelessly satisfied to see some of the color leaving Olive’s face. He saw her trying to word something silently, but Tom ignored her and went on to end the conversation with M.

«She is coming here?», asked Olive with a hint of panic the second Tom closed the call. «M is coming here?»

Tom smiled mockingly at her. «Yes, darling. Mummy is coming to pick you up.»

For a full moment she didn’t say a thing nor did she move. Then she punched him on his shoulder.

«I beg your pardon?!», Tom exclaimed massaging the spot where she hit him. She didn’t really hurt him, it was mostly the surprise. 

«You…», she stated irritated, crossing her arms. «I can’t believe you really did it. You were supposed to help me, not to make things worse.»

Tom looked at her. Not that he felt bad, but a small part of him - the one that was way too nice, apparently - wasn’t completely happy to know that this weird woman that entered his life for that one night, may end up having issues. He passed his hands through his hair. «Listen.» 

Olive looked up at him and for a moment Tom forgot what he was going to say. 

Nothing had changed and although she looked exactly as she had an instant before, she suddenly had a simple, clean expression on her face, as if she finally had decided to toss away masks and attitudes - intentionally or unintentionally. 

_This is her_ , Tom thought. _And she is pretty_.

That simple admission made him take a step back. Nervousness needed physical space, apparently.  

Olive looked at him confused. «I’m listening?»

«Yes», Tom replied looking around his apartment trying desperately to find something to look at that wasn’t her. «Yes. I’ll talk to her. To your boss, I mean. You won’t get into trouble, I promise.»

Olive shook her shoulders. «Don’t worry. It’s not like she is going to, you know…» With her finger she traced a straight line across her throat mimicking a cut, and for good measure she stuck out her tongue pretending to be dead. «I’ll be alright. There will be a lot of stern talking on her part and a lot of remorseful listening on my part. And she will give me some minor assignments and boring jobs for a while, but I will survive.»

She picked up a tennis ball that was lying on a coffee table and started to play with it. Tom dared to look at her. 

«Can I ask you something?»

Olive didn’t look at him, too busy keeping her eyes fixed on the tennis ball. «I suppose.»

«How did you know that even if you were able to… _retrieve_ whatever is that you are here for,Stina wouldn’t use the photos anyway?»

Olive smiled at him with an halo of appreciation that made Tom feel foolishly proud of himself. It seemed he had asked a question that she had found somewhat smart. 

«Well, apparently your neighbor is under the impression that the best place to keep the photos is in her phone, so she stored them there and only there. And I know from trustworthy sources that she isn’t in possession of her phone anymore.»

«How can you be so sure?»

«Because I stole it this evening», she replied nonchalantly, unable though to hide a little satisfied smile. She then balanced the tennis ball on the back of one hand and made it bounce with a sharp movement, then grabbed it with her palm and quickly moved it on the tip of one finger, where she started to spin it as if it was a basketball.

Tom shook his head. «I wonder how did you learn…»

She chuckled. «I grew up in a traveling circus.»

He hesitated, wondering. «Liar.»

Olive laughed. «Alright. I used to work for a company that checked and maintained utility poles. A risky occupation, but you learn all sort of useful things.»

Tom frowned. «You are lying again.»

She turned to look at him curiously and passed him the tennis ball. «How do you know? And why do you even want to know?»

Tom fixed his eyes on the tennis ball. «It’s not every day that I have the chance to meet someone that does what you do.»

Olive found that statement particularly amusing. «Stealing? _Really._ Can I point out that we are in London? The city is infested with people that do that.»

Tom finally looked at her. «Even so, they are not like you.»

She stared at him for a moment, looking equally confused and entertained. «Is this a weird way to compliment me?»

He raised his shoulders. «Just stating a fact.»

Olive took a step towards him, but then she stopped almost immediately. She looked hesitant. Unsure. Young.

Tom obviously didn’t know her, but he couldn’t help to think that she probably didn’t looked like that very often. And he also found out that uncertainty made the lines and traits of her face softer, maybe sweeter. Or maybe it was just the moon or the night itself that was particularly gracious on her. He couldn’t be sure.

«What’s with that expression?», Olive asked scrutinizing him still from a safe distance, as if he was some sort of rare and possibly dangerous specimen.

«Which expression?», Tom asked fixing his eyes on hers.

«The one you had a minute ago.» 

He threw the tennis ball back at her and she caught it apparently without even looking. «I’m just tired. Jet-lag. Jack Daniels. A combination of the two.»

He closed his eyes for a moment, passing a hand over them. When he opened them again, she was there, just a few inches from him.

Tom startled and took a step back, ending with his back against a wall. «You should never do that unless you have a very good reason to do it. You almost gave me a heart attack.»

«I have a very good reason», she stated slowly, raising on the tip of her toes. 

Tom saw her absentmindedly bitting her lower lip while staring at his mouth. There wasn't anything calculated in it - he was almost certain about it - and still he found it ridiculously sensual. His reaction, too, was somewhat instinctive and even unwanted, to a certain degree. He felt a thrill of pleasure going through him and his heart started to beat a little faster. He reminded himself that he knew nothing about this woman - besides the fact that she was a thief. And still, there he was, his mind suddenly flooded with images that-

«My phone», she interrupted his thoughts.

«Sorry?», Tom asked a little confused.

«You are still holding my phone», she pointed at one of his hands. «I need it back.»

«Ah. Sure. Of course. Sorry.» He didn’t even bother wondering if he sounded - yet again - like an idiot, because he was pretty sure of it. 

She seemed not to notice and instead she took her phone, stepping back a little. 

Tom opened his mouth, wanting to say something silly just to shake off some of the tension he had felt a moment before, but a very soft ringtone stopped his attempt.

Olive looked at the screen for a moment and then tilted the phone towards Tom, so that he could see the big “M” that was flashing on it. «My cue call.»

She started to make her way towards his apartment door and he followed her partially relieved, partially hesitant.

«Well», she said pausing a second, as if slightly unsure about what to say. «It was…»

Tom said “a pleasure” at the same time she said “weird”. They both laughed softly. 

«The city is big enough for us not to run into each other again - and all of that», Olive said with a neutral tone and a vague gesture of her hand. She sounded formal all over again. «Thank you for the hospitality.»

«You are welcome, I think?», Tom replied laughing softly once more. «It’s a good thing, I suppose, that there isn’t really anything valuable to steal in my apartment anyway.» 

Olive raised her eyebrows just a little, looking incredulous - or maybe surprised - by his words. He looked back at her bemused, the head slightly tilted to one side. 

And for a long moment she stared at his lips - not really trying to make a point, but simply because she couldn’t avoid it. 

«See», she finally said slowly, almost carefully, «I wouldn’t be so sure.»

Tom couldn’t find anything to reply. He just stared at her puzzled, while Olive quickly looked away. 

When she looked at him again a moment later, she did so with a smile, hinting a nod while walking away. He followed her with his eyes and only when she was already half way through the alley, he found himself calling her.

Olive turned and looked at him uncertain.

«London is not _that_ big», he said in a smile. «Check your phone.»

Olive, confused, opened her mouth to say something, but then decided against it. She raised a hand and waved at Tom, before running downstairs and outside, where M was waiting for her. 

She just stopped for a second in the foyer, checking her phone. Her contact list had been left open, but nothing more than that.

And in that moment she received a text from a number she didn’t know. It said: “ _this is Tom_ ”.

Olive couldn’t help but smile.

She had no idea when Tom took her phone number and that - if nothing else - showed an unexpected ability that Olive found noteworthy. Also, she now had his contact.

She didn’t know if she was ever going to do something about it. But she knew she wasn’t going to delete it. And she sort of knew that she was probably going to live to regret it.

It seemed to her that that man spelled trouble.

Still, she kept smiling.

Maybe because, she admitted to herself hurrying towards M’s car, chances were that Tom was one of the oddest things she had ever thought of stealing. 

If you could steal a person, that is.

She wasn’t really sure about it, but maybe she wasn’t going to be completely against trying to find out.

Some day, some time.

 

 

_Fin_


End file.
